Just Imagine
by Ms.GrahamCracker
Summary: 5 1/2 miles; 43 floats; 1 sniper; 2 brothers working together again CHAPTER FOUR IS UP!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I have never owned any part of Numb3rs, but, I often and unabashedly use them for my own pleasure. **

**Spoilers; I think everyone has seen them by now and this spoiler alert is hardly necessary, but there are a few small spoilers for "Sniper Zero" and "Cause and Effect".**

**No warnings**

**A/N: I have always thought there should be a story about the Eppes and the Tournament of Roses Parade since they live in Pasadena where it it held every year. This year, the parade's theme was "Just Imagine" and I thought it was the perfect one for the Eppes to participate in. I wanted to post it on Jan 2, the day of the parade, but real life had other ideas.**

**Please keep in mind, I know nothing about the buildings along Colorado Blvd. or the rest of the parade route, other than what I could see on Google maps, so I took full advantage of literary license and created my own. In fact, this entire story has as many real elements of the parade as it has ones I've created.**

**There are four chapters and I plan to post a new one every other day.**

**This takes place in present time. Charlie and Amita have been back from Cambridge for more than a year and happily resettled at home and at CalSci. Don and Robin have been married the same amount of time – having waited for the mathematician and his wife's return to have a surprisingly large ceremony (_"I'm only doing this once, Eppes. May as well do it_ _right."_). David has already been promoted once in DC, Colby is heading his own team in LA and Don is kicking butt as Special Agent in Charge of the Los Angeles field office.**

**Summary: 5 ½ miles; 43 floats; 1 sniper; 2 brothers working together again.**

**Just Imagine**

**~by MsGrahamCracker~**

**Chapter One**

Megan Reeves motioned to the prison guard through the window of the locked door that she was ready to leave the room where she had been counseling Angela Brant. The guard, Garrett Montgomery, looked at her, surprised. She was scheduled to work with Angela a full hour, as she did with all the other woman prisoners she worked with here at the federal prison, located some forty minutes outside the capital city, and she had only been with Angela less than 20 minutes. Ms. Reeves was, hands down, the most conscientious counselor they had ever had working with the female prisoners and it wasn't like her to short any of these women their time. One look at Reeves' grim face, though, told him something was up and it was more than just her wanting an early lunch break. He pulled the key from the holder on his belt, opened the door and Reeves slipped out quickly. He held the door for her as she turned and gave one last sympathetic look at the weeping, distraught woman still in the room, then he closed and locked the door again.

Something was wrong, Garrett was sure, although it didn't look like Brant was causing any trouble. Some of the female prisoners were hostile and unrepentant and didn't respond to counseling, often resorting to violence or misbehavior. Angela, on the other hand, had always seemed docile and eager to improve herself. Garrett had worked at the prison for eight years, though, and he knew enough not to underestimate any of them. He wasn't taking any chances. He had seen the fear in the counselor's eyes when she exited the room; fear and a genuine sense of panic. His hand went to the weapon on his hip. "Problem, Ms. Reeves?"

She was moving quickly, grabbing her jacket from the coat rack in the hall and her bag from the table beside it.

"Is there a problem?" he asked again.

"Problem?" she repeated, as she turned back to him. Her voice was breathless, her manner agitated and alarmed. She started for the door. "With a capital P and that stands for parade," she said cryptically over her shoulder, then hurried down the hallway towards the exit.

As she stepped outside, Megan opened her cell phone and looked at the time; 11:14am It would be 8:14am in California – Pasadena to be exact. There was no time to go through the channels. She had no choice. She would have to deal with the repercussions later, and so would the person she was going to call. Knowing him as she did, she knew he wouldn't have a problem with that. She waited until she was completely outside the prison walls, in the parking lot next to her car, before she dialed her former boss. His number, no longer on speed dial since she left the FBI and returned to the East Coast to finish her education and work with troubled women, was still familiar, and she dialed it quickly. It rang twice before she heard the familiar "Eppes", then Megan talked fast.

~Numb3rs~

The sixty inch plasma television set, mounted on the wall in Alan Eppes' "man cave" was on, and it's proud owner was watching it from the comfort of a plush, overstuffed, tan-colored leather chair. He popped the last bite of a freshly baked bran muffin into his mouth then brushed the crumbs off his shirt onto the gleaming hardwood floor beneath his chair. He reached for the steaming cup of coffee sitting on the heavily polished side table next to his chair and held it between his hands, blowing gently on the top of it, dispersing the steam away from him and into the large open room. He sipped, carefully, then turned to an identical chair a few feet away and the man sitting there.

"Ah, now this is the way to enjoy the Rose Parade, huh, Stan?"

His friend and former consulting partner, Stan Carter, nodded his head, swallowing the last bite of his own muffin. He and Stan had decided to remain at the house this year and watch the parade from the comfort of the leather recliners. Charlie, Larry, Don and Robin would be in later to watch the Oregon Ducks and the Wisconsin Badgers play the Rose Bowl game and eat the mountains of food he had prepared. Amita would be home later in the evening, after a conference at the downtown convention center in Los Angeles.

"I'd say I feel sorry for all those saps standing out in the cold, stamping their feet to stay warm, just to enjoy a bunch of floats and marching bands, but ..." Stan stopped, his eyes becoming distant, longing and he sighed heavily. "I'd be lying. I don't feel sorry for 'em at all."

Knowing exactly what his friend meant, Alan turned to him, a little wistful himself now. "Margaret and I always took the boys to see the parade. We'd stand there along Colorado Blvd. layered in so much clothing we couldn't move." He smiled, shaking off the pensive mood. "They were great times and I think both Don and Charlie have some good memories." He paused, remembering. "When he was younger, Donnie always enjoyed the horses and later, those girls twirling their batons at the front of the marching bands. It was so cold and the poor things were always wearing those short skirts, you know, but Don seemed to like it." Both men laughed and Alan added, "I think he still does."

"Charlie, on the other hand ... well, someone who didn't know him might believe he wasn't enjoying himself as much as the other children were, but, Margaret and I would see his eyes light up, you know, as he'd tell us about the math that was used to design the floats. We knew that Charlie enjoyed those statistics as much as Don enjoyed the girls in the short skirts."

"It's always been that way with your sons, Alan." Having been a friend of the Eppes family for many years, Stan had an insider's view of the dynamics between the boys. "Don always had his feet planted firmly on the ground. Charlie, well, he soared above us all."

Alan nodded, agreeing with his friend's assessment, and raised his cup to his face, blowing once again on the hot liquid.

The picture on the tv screen changed to one that panned the sidewalks along the parade route. People were cheering, waving gloved hands at the camera, the air in front of their mouths turning to a fine mist.

Alan shuddered. "Don and Robin are there somewhere. They asked me to join them, but … " He shook a threatening finger at Stan, "If you tell this to anyone, I'll deny I ever said it." Another shudder went through him and he hunched his shoulders against the imaginary cold. "I'm too old to be out there in that weather, even if Charlie_ is_ riding on one of the floats."

"Is this the first float CalSci has entered?"

"No, no, I think they've had several entries before, but Charlie was never as involved as he's been this year. He and Larry Fleinhardt have been working closely with the students on this for the last nine months. I tell you a person has no idea how much work goes into one of those things. Every square inch of the float has to be covered with flowers or other natural material – you know, like leaves or seeds or bark. The amount of flowers used on one float is staggering, and because it's all perishable, they can't put the final touches on it until after Christmas. I told Charlie ..."

"Hey, look," Stan said excitedly, interrupting his friend and pointing to the large television screen. "Isn't that Charlie?"

The local news anchor was talking, but it was the small still picture of his youngest son, placed high in the right corner of the screen, that had Alan's attention.

"The floats are lined up and in position," the newsman said from the warmth and comfort of the television studio, "the marching band directors are praying everyone remembers their moves and the horses are decorated and practically prancing, ready to start that long 5½ mile trek down Colorado Blvd. The excitement and pageantry of the 123rd Tournament of Roses Parade is just minutes away and volunteers have been working all night to double check all the details."

"Our reporter, Dani Lopez," he continued, "visited some of them early this morning as they put the final touches on their award winning entries. She spoke with Professor Charles Eppes of CalSci University about their amazing and creative answer to this year's theme."

The screen changed to a young attractive woman holding a microphone in front of her. Beside her stood Charlie Eppes. He was smiling a little self-consciously, obviously uncomfortable about being in front of the camera. His hands were in his pockets and he was shifting his weight from one leg to another.

The reporter, completely at ease knowing millions of people were watching her, looked directly into the camera lens and smiled. Her capped and polished teeth sparkled in stark contrast to her dark crimson lipstick. Her matching red tailored jacket was sharp and trim, and her dark hair was cut dramatically in a fashionable and trendy pixie style. "I'm Dani Lopez, reporting for KTLA where all the volunteers and workers are getting their entries ready for their inaugural appearance in the Rose Parade. This year, Pasadena's own CalSci University has submitted an entry and it is a winner – in more ways than one. It's taken not one, but two trophy's this year – the Founders' Trophy for Most Spectacular Built and Decorated by Volunteers From a Community or Organization and the coveted Grand Marshall's Trophy for Excellence in Creative Concept and Design.

"Here with me is Professor Charles Eppes, a math professor at CalSci and one of the driving forces behind the outstanding display of ingenuity, artistry and … well, imagination." A field reporter with an eye towards an anchor chair, Dani managed to turn slightly towards her guest, while never actually giving up her share of the screen. Still smiling for the camera she said, "You've been working all year on this float. Are you excited now that the big day has arrived?"

She moved the microphone in front of Charlie and he spoke, his voice at first shy and quiet, then more relaxed and energetic. "Yeah, well, we're sure excited about the response. We were thrilled when the tournament committee accepted our initial application last February, and, now, well we're really honored to have won two awards. But, I have to tell you, it's really been a group effort. The student volunteers have been amazing. They've put in an unbelievable amount of time on this project." He paused briefly, then added with a charming, crooked smile, "and most of them have even been able to keep up with their classwork, as well."

The newswoman's immaculately shaped eyebrows rose. "Considering the end result, professor," she prodded with a smile, "surely a little extra credit is in order."

Charlie laughed.

"Can you share with us, professor, what was your inspiration?"

"Well, for us, the parade's theme this year, "Just Imagine", brought forth images of the remarkable scientists, physicists, scholars and mathematicians that came before us that had the insight and imagination to see the world differently than everyone else. I work in applied mathematics and we've tried, with this float, to show how their discoveries and inventions are used in our everyday life, decades and even centuries later."

"Some of the animation is amazing."

"Well, certainly, we might have benefited from a few students with outstanding computer skills."

"The Tournament of Roses Parade is an American tradition. I understand you have a personal history, Professor Eppes."

"It's Charlie and yes, I guess I do. I was chosen to ride on a float in the 1985 parade when I was nine years old. The theme was the Spirit of America and the float was pretty elaborate. It was titled Youth; the Bridge to Tomorrow and I got to stand on this flower covered bridge with several other child prodigies. It was pretty exciting. But, actually there's another bit of trivia you may not know and that's the fact that one of the original founders of the Tournament of Roses Parade, back in 1890, was Professor Charles Frederick Holder, who received a professorship emeritus from Throop College of Technology, which, in 1920, became CalSci."

Dani smiled thinly and tried to look interested.

"Wow, that's fascinating," she murmured, then, "We only have a few seconds left. Being a math professor, can you give our viewers some numbers pertaining to the parade?"

Charlie laughed again, delighted with her question.

"Well, it takes 60 volunteers working 10 hours a day for 10 days just to decorate one float. Twenty daises, thirty roses or 36 marigolds will cover one square foot of a float area. Over 600 tons of steel, 5,000 gallons of glue and 18 million flowers are used each year. Over 700,000 spectators watch the parade in person with over 60 million at home. And the estimated total dollar impact on Southern California is over $400 million."

"Those are certainly some amazing numbers, Profes … Charlie. But I'm afraid our numbers are up. Thank you for talking to us today, and once again, congratulations to you and your design team for your amazing contribution to this year's parade." With one more brilliant smile directed at the camera, she finished with, "I'm Dani Lopez, reporting for KTLA at the 123rd Tournament of Roses Parade. And now, back to Clarke in the studio."

The scene changed back to the newsroom and the weather report for the parade.

"Two trophies!" Stan sat up in his chair and looked across at Alan. "I'm impressed, but not surprised. Neither one of your boys ever settled for second best at anything."

"Well, some things may come easier for Charlie, but neither one of them is afraid to work for what they want. They are so different in many ways, but that need to win, that desire to be the best … well, maybe that's why they worked so well together for those six years before Charlie left for England."

"Is Charlie still helping with the FBI cases?" Stan asked.

Alan lowered his cup to the table beside him and nodded. "It's not the same as it was before, though. Donnie's not in the field as much as he was, and," Alan's eyes suddenly sparkled and he beamed happily, "with Amita due in two months now, Charlie's attention is more focused at home and his Cognitive Emergence work. Colby does call on him now and then, but Charlie gave them a list of the other mathematicians at CalSci that can help."

Alan leaned across the arm of his chair, drawing closer to his friend, and added in an earnest, serious tone. "If Don asked him, though, he'd never refuse."

~Numb3rs~

Don and Robin Eppes were standing just inside the blue line that's visible on the asphalt of Colorado Blvd. year 'round. Positioned three feet out from the curb it marked the farthest point into the street where spectators could safely watch the parade and not interfere with the floats and bands.

They had spent the night on the sidewalk with thousands of other hardy souls, ensuring they had a good vantage point for viewing the parade. It had been Robin's idea; an idea her and Don had turned into a full-fledged camping excursion. They had loaded Don's SUV with two long folding chairs, two heavy sleeping bags, snacks and four large thermoses of coffee and driven to within three blocks of Colorado Blvd. onto E. Del Mar, where they parked, then carried their bundles to an area just west of the second set of grandstand seating.

Night temperatures had dipped into the low 30's with a light fog coming in from the ocean. It had added a layer of dampness that went straight to their bones. They'd stayed warm, though, through the night and early morning hours by wearing several layers of clothing and snuggling together whenever possible.

Pre-parade activities of games and songs and eating hot dogs cooked over portable camping stoves had continued most of the night. Excited children had run up and down the street spraying everything in sight with silly string, while several small bands performed in the parking lots behind the fast-food restaurants.

The celebration had eased slightly before midnight when the "campers" were allowed to move their chairs and sleeping bags to the blue line. Don and Robin had finally burrowed under the sleeping bags around 2 am and slept side by side until the sun woke them. After a quick breakfast of protein bars and lukewarm coffee, they had bundled their belongings up and Don had returned them to the SUV while Robin kept his spot.

They stood now in a coveted first row position on the blue line. A family who had spent the night on the sidewalk, as well, was standing nearby, the young father trying to keep two excited boys in tow, while the mother held a smaller one wrapped in several blankets. The family was all wearing green and yellow jerseys with Donald Duck's image on the front, the mascot of the Oregon Ducks. Don, himself, had a small wager in the office pool on the Ducks for the win. He smiled at the father. "Looks like a good year for Oregon," he said with a nod towards their jerseys. The young man deftly separated the two boys who were arguing about something and replied, "If Darron's arm and De'Anthony's legs hold up, they stand a good chance."

The baby began to fuss and the father reached for him, taking him from the tired woman's arms. He held the child close, soothing it with soft murmurs and the child relaxed.

Don looked at Robin, who had her eyes on the baby, and his breath caught at a look he'd never seen on her before; maternal and nurturing. He didn't care if they were surrounded by thousands of people. He leaned in and kissed her, tenderly, his hand resting on her stomach. She hadn't been to the doctor yet, but the pregnancy test from the pharmacy last week had confirmed that Alan could expect another grandchild in late summer, just six months or so after Charlie and Amita's first born.

He drew back, his eyes locked with hers and Robin was both shocked and pleased to see the unmistakable hint of lust and desire radiating from him. She was even more shocked to discover she had similar feelings – in front of thousands of people! Then, suddenly, he laughed.

She shot him a fast, mock glare. "What's so funny?"

He reached up and she felt his fingers probing through her hair. She laughed herself when he extracted several long pieces of orange silly string.

Don wrapped his arms around Robin, drawing her close to him and she rested her head on his shoulder. At this tender, quasi-romantic moment, Don was surprised when Robin spoke – about his brother.

"Do you know what position Charlie's float is in the parade?"

The moment gone, he straightened up and answered, "Nope, no idea. He's been pretty secretive about it. We had a few beers a couple of weeks ago and he did tell me it has something to do with Einstein or something."

"Hmm," she chuckled, making a face. "Just what I want in a parade float."

He smiled with her, then looked at his watch; 7:58. The parade would start soon. Excitement stirred in the crowd around them as everyone started watching the sky, waiting for the overhead flight of the Air Force B2 Spirit that would announce the beginning of the parade.

Several Pasadena motorcycle policeman rode by and Don nodded his head towards them. Law enforcement officers had to deal with drunkenness and unruly behavior before and during the parade and each year they were forced to make several arrests. Officers from the Los Angeles County Sheriff's department were also on duty, moving through the crowds, their eyes opened for any disturbance. This year, with the Occupy the Rose Parade protestors planning to march down Colorado Blvd. immediately behind the parade, three truckloads of sheriff's deputy's were on standby. Since 911, security was a top priority with such a large, well known and distinctly American event, and every branch of law enforcement took their job seriously.

The air above them vibrated with sudden intensity and the crowd roared as the flyover signaled the start of the parade**.**

The spectators around Don and Robin continued to cheer as the sound of the opening ceremony drifted to them from Orange Grove Blvd. It was some time before they actually saw the cavalcade of motorcycle police that preceded the parade. Dancers in bright red and green followed the motorcycles and behind them, the first band.

The first float, one of fanciful dreams featuring several sheep made completely of raw cotton, passed by, followed by a military band. Thankfully, the noise of the band was fading down Colorado when Don's phone vibrated in his pocket and he reached for it. "Eppes."

As he talked, Robin's gaze fell on a small girl down the line from where they stood. The child, probably three or four years old, was looking with wide enchanted eyes as a fanciful float with two smiling aliens operating a lemonade stand passed by. A little girl would be nice, she mused. Charlie and Amita were having a boy, and even though her heart did a flip at the thought of a little boy with Don's eyes and smile, she knew a little girl would be ...

"Any clue what he has planned?"

It wasn't what he said; the words could simply be referring to a family activity after the parade, but, she knew that tone in his voice and, it immediately drew her attention away from the girl. She saw his jaw muscles tighten, his lips press together, his whole body tense and alert.

"Brant. Yeah, I got it. Yeah," he said, nodding his head, "no problem. You did the right thing."

He snapped his phone shut and turned to Robin. Their eyes locked for an instant, and she nearly lost her breath at the intense, razor sharp look in her husband's eyes. Breaking the connection, he reached forward, took her by the elbow and dragged her back into the crowd, away from the blue line.

"Don ..." she started, but he raised a hand, silencing her until he drew her into an empty alcove between two buildings.

"Robin, that was Megan. She has reason to believe something's going down here today during the parade."

She drew in a sharp breath. She didn't know Megan Reeves that well, but she knew the former agent wouldn't have called Don unless she was pretty sure there would be trouble. Robin knew the potential for disaster. "What ..." she started, but he cut her off again, reaching into his pocket and handing her the keys to his SUV.

"Robin, I want you to go home."

She shook her head defiantly. "No way, Eppes. I'm staying with you."

His grip on her arms tightened. "I have to go, you understand? I'll have to contact parade security and set up a command…"

She was still shaking her head and he stopped talking. He lowered his hand to her stomach, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "I can't … I have a job to do and I can't do it if I'm worried about you. Please, just go home."

She was angry – pissed really, but she knew he was right; that if she, and by extension, their child were in danger, he would not be able to focus and do what he had to do. She hated that he needed to be free of her in order to work, that he needed her to go away when she so desperately wanted to stay. She thought of them staying warm through the night, snuggling close together, and the feel of his gun on his hip, but, even then she knew it was part of who he was and she understood – as she did now. She bit her lip and nodded her head, silently agreeing to go as he had asked.

She stepped into him and he wrapped his arms around her. He held her tight, his hand curling under her hair, caressing her scalp, pressing her head to his shoulder and softly kissing her forehead. Big bad FBI agent, she thought. He was good at his job and he had certainly faced the worse mankind could offer, but … that was before they had what they had now. She didn't want to lose that; she didn't want to lose him.

She pulled her head away from his shoulder and looked at his face – his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, memorizing them. His lips quirked up a little at her intense scrutiny. He leaned into her and they kissed, desperate and filled with emotion, then she pulled out of his embrace and hurried down the street without looking back.

**tbc**

**There was a float called Youth; Bridge to Tomorrow in the the 1985 Rose Parade. I have no idea who rode on it, it just sounded like a perfect float to place a young Charlie on.**

**I don't know if it's possible to win two trophies, but, come on, it anyone can do it, it's Charlie.**


	2. Chapter 2

**It's nice to see people are still reading Numb3rs stories. Thanks for the alerts and reviews. They make my day.**

**Just Imagine**

**Chapter Two**

Don watched Robin until she was out of sight and safely on her way to the SUV. It still amazed him how empty and cold he felt when she wasn't next to him, how completely _connected_ they had become in such a short time. He literally could not imagine his life without her in it. He knew she was angry at being sent away, but if anything would happen to her and . . .

He rubbed his face, drew a deep breath through his nose, and sent those feelings to the back of his mind. Now that she was safe he had to concentrate on the situation.

The parade route was five and a half miles long and Ethan Brant could strike anywhere. Don combed his hand through his hair, his quick mind already planning a course of action. The way he saw it he needed three things – and he needed them now!

Notifying all the people that protocol demanded would take time, but, he knew he had to at least let Pasadena police and parade security know what was going on. If he was able to determine where Brant would strike, he would need to move quickly – through the middle of the damn parade, if he had to – and he would need their cooperation and assistance to do that.

He saw two police officers nearly a block away from him, on the same side of Colorado he was on. They were standing in the street, between the spectators and the parade. He hurried to them, showed them his ID and badge and demanded, "Who's in charge?"

"Captain Huckeriede, sir. He's down by the first aid station across from the Civic Auditorium."

"I need to talk to him, asap."

The officer spoke through the comm link on the shoulder of his uniform and Don was assured that the captain would be there immediately.

While he waited, he took a few steps away from the two officers and pulled his phone from his pocket again. Quickly, he dialed the number that would give him what he needed next; reliable, dependable, proficient and most of all, familiar and trustworthy. As Megan did before, when the phone was answered, Don spoke quickly. "I'm downtown Pasadena, on Colorado, near the beginning of the parade. How soon can you get down here?"

There was no hesitation, just Colby Granger's voice, quick and reassuring. "I can be there in like, two minutes, Don. I'm in the grandstands on Orange Grove."

Don was both relieved at his former team member's close proximity and filled with an uneasy feeling. He lowered his voice before asking, "Do you have someone with you?"

This time there was an second of silence, uncertainty. "Yeah."

"Send her home, Colb. We may have a sniper."

There was a small intake of breath, then Colby's voice, low, but solid and sure. "Got it, Don."

Captain Huckeriede of the Pasadena Police Department arrived and over the sound of a large and very loud marching band, Don filled him in. The Captain readily offered whatever assistance Don would need, immediately placing the call that would add additional uniforms on site.

Don heard his name being called behind him and turned to see Colby Granger running towards him. He met the man halfway. "Hey, Colby. Thanks for coming so quick." Then, under his breath, "Sorry about your date."

Colby merely nodded and asked, "What do we have?"

Don motioned for Colby to move in closer and in a low voice he said, "First, I want you to know, we're working unsanctioned here. I took the call myself. The AD knows nothing about it and if things go wrong, well, we can both kiss our careers goodbye. I mean, I'll take full responsibility, but I'll understand if you don't want to risk it."

Colby nodded again, this time with a slight touch of irritation, as if he was offended that Don even had to ask. "I'm here, Don," he said with conviction, then repeated, "What do we have?"

"Megan just called me," Don began. "One of the women she's counseling is in prison for helping her husband rob a bank in Virginia. She's doing time, but he got out on a technicality. Name's Ethan Brant. Anyway, he came to Calif. to make a new life for them when she gets out, but she says he lost his job, his car's been repossessed and the house he was buying has been foreclosed. He snapped. This woman told Megan he called her this morning and told her he was going to make them all pay; to see what it was like to lose it all. She told Megan he said it would all end today with the parade. I don't know what we're looking at, Colb, a bomb or a sniper ..."

"Where do you want me, Don?"

"I'm thinking we need to get an extra detail on the grand marshal. Better put one on the Tournament of Roses Parade president, too."

Colby nodded his head once, letting Don know it was as good as done, then he offered. "I'll get someone on that photographer's platform at the turn at Orange Grove, too. It's 5 levels high, best view of the parade."

"Good, good," Don said, then without pausing for a breath, he asked for the third thing he needed, "then see if you can find Charlie. He's on the CalSci float. Maybe he can help."

Colby nodded and turned away quickly, but after a few steps, stopped and asked, "Uh, hey, Don which one?

"What?"

"Which float? I think there's over 40 of them."

Don paused and tried to remember what his brother had told him about the CalSci entry. "Uh, it'll be the one with Einstein and Socrates on it."

Colby started off again, then once more stopped in his tracks. "Einstein and … ?" He shook his head, mumbling as he started running again, "Of course it is."

Colby ran to the nearest LAPD officer and arranged for several more patrolmen to be added to the guard detail covering the grand marshal and the president of the Rose Parade. He also ordered two officers to man the photographer's platform. That done, he began his search for Charlie.

As the parade traveled east toward the eventual turn onto N. Sierra Madre Blvd. and the stopping point at Victory Park, Colby ran west, towards the parade's origin on S. Orange Grove Blvd., scanning the floats as far in front of him as he could see, looking for something that might carry Albert Einstein and Socrates.

Then he saw it; the enormous entry was just inching it's way around the 110 degree turn onto Colorado from S. Orange Grove Blvd.

Despite the urgent nature of the situation, Colby waited until the extended chassis had completed the turn and straightened out onto Colorado before he approached.

Six CalSci students marched in front of the float bearing two banners proclaiming the entry to be the winner of both the Founders' and the Grand Marshall's trophies.

The float was probably 80 to 85 feet long with five distinct individual layers, four of them seemingly suspended in air. At the front of the float, a tranquil scene of students and teacher filled the first area. The students, in Grecian robes, sat in a garden decorated with hundreds of gladiolus and tulips. Their teacher, Socrates, easily recognizable even to those who only knew him by name, stood among a sea of white carnations. Behind the enigmatic philosopher, portrayed by the equally enigmatic Professor Fleindhart, stood three small-scaled, but amazingly detailed and faithful reproductions of Harvard, Cambridge and Princeton. Each 'brick' in the buildings had been painstakingly created with cinnamon bark, cranberry seeds and silver leaf.

Behind them, on another level a few feet higher, was an ode to Leonardo da Vinci and his contributions to modern day life. A student dressed as the "Renaissance Man" stood at the polymath's workplace, a room filled with replicas of da Vinci's numerous inventions. Above him, the predecessor of the Wright brother's flying machine and inspiration for all modern day aircraft soared and dipped and twirled in an intricate pattern of animation. A larger than life size portrait of the Vitruvian Man – the well-known drawing depicting the out-reaching human male form – hung from a nearby wall. Both the desk and the portrait were made with bark and crushed dry leaves, while the 'flying machine' that glided around them was covered with bronze-colored chrysanthemums. A little know fact that daVinci invented the very first robot was demonstrated by an animated android, comically adorned with a painters beret, standing in front of an easel where the "Mona Lisa" rested. Leonardo's robot moved with computer generated control and appeared to dip his painter's brush into the colorful splotches of "paint" on the palette it held in it's two digit robot hand, then apply it to the painting. The crowd of spectators laughed as the robot "created" the masterpiece.

The third and middle level honored Galileo. The CalSci student dressed as the famous Italian astronomer stood beside a replica of the first primitive telescope he created – which in turn stood beside an intricate, detailed version of the Hubble Space telescope that today sends thousands of images of distant galaxies to Earth. Against a raised solid surface covered with onion seeds to create a smooth black surface, white orchid petals flown in from Southeast Asia were used to simulate the Milky Way Galaxy. A sprinkling of fine glitter that caught the early morning Pasadena sun caused the stars to twinkle as the float moved down the street. A breathtaking reproduction of the sun, and the planets that revolve around it, brought gasps from the crowd. Each planet was covered in blended strawflowers from South Africa, blue irises from Holland, and several different shades of roses. The planets traveled in their individual orbits around the sun, with each satellite moon in it's own orbit around it's mother planet. The combination of the visual effects, the use of color and flower placement and outstanding animation had made it a favorite among the judges.

Sir Isaac Newton was next. The English physicist, mathematician and astronomer who is credited with unraveling the mystery of gravity, was considered by many to be the greatest and most influential scientist who ever lived. He stood on the fourth level, next to a simulated apple tree. The limbs swayed in a computer generated breeze, dropping the occasional apple onto the ground. On the other side of the tree, was the only object on the float that was not completely covered with flowers. A zero-gravity chamber, complete with the lucky CalSci student who won the toss, represented Newton's contribution to space travel and exploration. The brilliant minds at CalSci had discovered hydraulics could be used to simulate neutral buoyancy and the weightlessness of space. The student floated, completely suspended several feet above the bottom of the chamber, and the crowd cheered as they passed.

At the top level, in sharp contrast to the outstanding animation and crowd pleasing displays on the previous ones, a small figure stood alone on a simple narrow platform that stretched across the entire width of the float - Albert Einstein.

Colby recognized the genius – Charles Eppes – now wearing a bushy salt/pepper mustache covering his upper lip. With some help from genetics and heritage, he didn't have to fake the prominent nose or bushy eyebrows, which had been lightened. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, with the collar open beneath a fuzzy, mis-buttoned, well-worn sweater. A old rumpled brown suit with elbow patches completed the look, but it was his hair that stopped Colby momentarily in his tracks. It was Charlie's own hair, of that Colby was sure, and, to be honest, Colby had seen the mathematician's hair through the years he had known him in varying lengths and styles, but the "Einstein" look he sported now was definitely a new one.

Teased and sprayed and gelled to the point of stiffness, it haloed his face in the unkempt mess of disarray that the original and true Einstein was noted for. The color of Charlie's hair had also been altered – either by white powder or flour or something – Colby wasn't sure – but the transformation was incredible. Charlie Eppes and become Albert Einstein.

Recognizable without any props or symbols of his invaluable contribution to mankind, 'Einstein' stood waving at the spectators from under a banner that stretched across the entire float. In eight foot letters created by using thousands of dehydrated yellow and gold marigold petals, the banner read "You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." The words from John Lennon's song "Imagine" dwarfed the genius, and Colby's mouth quirked up on one side. The seriousness of the current situation, though, choked his teasing remarks from him (later, he thought, definitely later) and grabbing onto the platform, he hoisted himself onto the float.

Larry Fleindhart, resplendent in white flowing robes and sandals, stepped forward. "Highly irregular, Agent Granger. No offense, but in your current state of dress I don't believe you could convince these hardy spectators that you represent any of the illustrious people we are honoring here. Besides, I believe the parade administrators might object. We already have the limit of live human occupants allowed without prior approval."

"No offense taken," Colby assured him, "and don't worry, I won't be staying." He was still talking to Larry, but he turned his gaze to Charlie, who had left his position on the float to join them. "And I need to take Charlie with me." Speaking directly to Charlie then, Colby said, "We need your help."

Shocked, Charlie looked at the agent with wide-eyed dismay. "Now!" he asked, his lightened eyebrows raising in disbelief.

"Yeah. We have a situation. Don sent me to get you."

Larry and Charlie looked at each other, both very aware of the significance of Colby's remark; Don hadn't asked for Charlie's help since the mathematician's return from England. For him to do so now … Charlie looked helplessly at Larry, but his friend merely patted Charlie once on the shoulder. "Certainly, you must go, Charles. We will persevere without you. After all, it's not everyday Albert Einstein is asked to help the FBI." With that, Larry gathered his robes and carefully made his way back to his position on the front of the float. Colby hopped off the moving entry and Charlie, not quite as nimble as the agent, sat down on the side of the chassis and slid off onto the asphalt.

Don was talking to two members of the Tournament of Roses Committee when they arrived. He thanked the two committee members for their cooperation and they hurried away, then he turned to his brother.

"Good, you're here."

"What's going on?"

Once again, in a low voice, Don started to explain the situation. "We may a sniper, or …"

"Sniper!" Charlie interrupted and before Don could continue, Charlie went on, a touch of panic in his voice. "We need to get everyone off the floats now! I have to get back ..."

Don reached out and took hold of his brother's arm. Squeezing hard enough to get Charlie's attention he hissed in a low voice that demanded calm and silence.

"Charlie, we can't. The parade's already started. There's too many people, you understand? We'll cause a panic."

"But, Don," Charlie continued to protest, "I'm responsible for those students. Their families ..."

"Charlie, look around. Everyone has families. Most of them have their families here with them. We can't stop the parade. We can't evacuate everyone. We have to work around it."

Don squeezed one more time, then released his hold, bending down to catch his brother's eyes. He was relieved to see the panic reside and understanding settle in. He took a step back, giving Charlie some space and asked silently with his expression; _You okay now?_

Charlie swallowed and nodded. A look of grim resignation crossed his face. As many cases as he had worked with the FBI in those six years he still had trouble accepting the dark violent side of human nature. He swallowed again. "What do you need?"

"We need to know where he might position himself."

Completely focused now, Charlie's expression became incredulous and he shook his head, "Don, there's literally tons of variables. The possibilities could be incalculable. I can't ..."

"Charlie," Don stopped him, "you know this route. You drive this way everyday. CalSci is just a few blocks south of here."

Charlie was nodding his head. "No … I know … I mean, what do you know about him? Is he looking for maximum victims, or a specific individual? Is he rational - sane with a vendetta, or postal, just out to get his name in the papers?"

Quickly, Don relayed his earlier conversation with Megan.

"I see," Charlie said softly, "so his actions are motivated by a need for retribution."

Relieved to see his brother was on track, Don slipped easily into agent mode. "Sniper sounds more logical, but we can't rule out bombs along the parade route. We're working with LAPD and the Pasadena police department. I've got the canine units out sniffing for bombs; it would just help if we could point them in the right direction."

"Well, Don without all the data - the type of weapon, his skill level, a control of prior behavior … Don, there's even the probability that he won't position himself here on Colorado. There's Walnut and E. Del Mar, easily within sniper ranger. I'd have to do analysis of … "

"Come on, Charlie," Don urged, "you did it before, remember? And Edgerton said you were pretty close to the sniper's location. Give me pretty close, buddy. I'll take it from there."

Charlie grew quiet and his gaze became distant, unfocused. Edgerton. He'd said,_"Invisibility is a sniper's greatest strength."_ Would it be possible for a man to become invisible on Colorado Blvd. today? This five mile section was zoned for commercial use and there was no end of fast food places and small businesses, most of them just one or two stories high. Truthfully, there were very few multi-leveled buildings high enough to offer a sniper both the invisibility and perspective he needed. That would narrow the possibilities, he thought.

The wondrous and anomalous configuration of neurons and gray matter in his brain that made him who he was, swirled through his head, isolating those few buildings – the images of them burned into his memory from years of daily travel to and from CalSci. He sifted through huge amounts of information that his brain transposed into numbers – his language. They flowed endlessly; analyzing data, forming expressions, creating equations. He studied the pattern of tree clusters or large billboards around those buildings that would hamper visibility. He judged sunlight and atmospheric pressure and density with the days wind speed and direction. In the end, he even channeled Ian Edgerton, combining logic with the sniper's perspective; Colorado ran east and west which meant the gunman would be shooting towards the parade as it traveled east, with the sun at his back. Depending on window access, that might further narrow the search area. It wasn't enough, though. As he'd mention to Don, the sniper could easily take up a position on E. Walnut St. or E. Del Mar Blvd., both running parallel to Colorado, a few blocks away in either direction. As far as that goes, if he had a long range sniper rifle and the skill to use one, he could wait at CalSci or Pasadena City College; both had libraries that would offer the height needed for such an endeavor.

When Charlie finally blinked and looked at his brother it wasn't with conviction or certainty. His face was clouded with doubt.

Don's expression, however, was earnest, anxious and trusting. "You have something?"

"The highest probability," Charlie began, hesitantly, "would be the Amherst Complex, those high rise office buildings on the south side of Colorado, just before Pasadena City College, between Lake and Allen."

Don nodded once, as if his brother had just confirmed his own theory. He pulled the gun from the holster on his hip and checked the load.

Charlie was at his side, quickly. "But, Don, I can't be sure. I need to …"

"There's no time, Charlie," Don snapped, brusque and hurried. "I said I'd take pretty close." He returned his Glock to it's holster and turned to Colby. "How hard would it be to override the security on one of those buildings?"

"You'd have to encrypt the code or hack into the security system itself."

"Or old school," Don said thoughtfully, "he could have just hidden in a storage room yesterday and spent the night."

Colby nodded grimly. "Either way, we have to assume he's there and set up."

Nodding, Don said, "Alright, I'm going to go check it out, Colby, you …"

"Wait!" Charlie grabbed Don's arm. "Alone? Without backup?"

Don gave his brother a quick, affectionate grin, then turned to Granger."Colby, locate a captain named Huckeriede with the PDP. Tell him what Charlie's come up with and have him send backup to that location. Then have the Emergency Medical Response people stand by. Oh, and see if you can locate some vests. I want you and Charlie in one asap."

"On it."

Colby hurried away and Don started walking, pulling his brother along with him. "Charlie, find someplace out of the way and stay put."

Charlie was shaking his head, running along side his brother in order to keep up with Don's determined steps. "Don, please. We don't have enough data. I just can't be sure of my findings. I feel like we're missing something important."

"Yeah, well, buddy, what we're missing is time. I gotta go with what we have."

"Don … "

"Charlie ...". Don stopped, grabbed his brother by both shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. "Don't second guess yourself like that. You did a good job, buddy. Now, please, just find some cover and let me do mine."

Charlie bristled slightly at his brother's orders. He scowled, annoyed, then conceded with a slight pout in his voice. "Alright, just be careful."

Don's expression softened and he squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I will. Now go on."

Don turned away, getting his bearings. The site Charlie predicted was nearly two miles away. On a good day he could run that on the FBI training field in 10 to 12 minutes, but this was far from a good day and he wasn't sure he had ten minutes. He knew there were police cruisers off Colorado, behind the scenes, but even if he took the time to find one, he wouldn't be able to drive it down Colorado Blvd. with the parade in full swing. He started running, slipping in between an all female equestrian drill team and a enthusiastic high school band. Once on the other side of the street he turned east and broke into a full run. He stayed as close to the blue line as he could, not wanting to interfere with the parade. The crowd ignored him, their attention firmly on the procession, and he ran unheeded.

The agent in him screamed to stop and look in every backpack, check every trash can along the sidewalk, look for any and every sniper vantage point, but he couldn't.

He had overcome his trust issues some time ago and right now he had to trust the Pasadena police to search the crowds, looking for anything suspicious. He had to trust the LAPD and their canine unit who had been trained to detect bombs. He had to trust Colby to secure the grand Marshall and he had to trust Charlie's math. He was painfully aware how many people could die if he was wrong and Brant had planted bombs along the route, but he had to trust his own instinct, too – and his gut told him the man wanted to select his victims, wanted to play God, wanted to control the situation. No, trust was not the problem; time was the enemy. A sniper – undetected, hidden, and unstoppable – could kill a lot of people in a short time. How many innocent spectators could die today between that first shot that would give his position away and the time they could stop him?

He knew Charlie wasn't completely convince the location he gave him was correct, but the truth was, Don had considered those buildings himself. Charlie's analysis had cinched it.

He and Charlie both had had a hard time in the beginning trying to convince the right people that math could help fight crime. FBI tactics, procedures and training were some of the most rigorous and successful in the world and Don had the utmost faith in them. He had learned them, used them, taught them, believed in them, but in the end, if they didn't provide the answers that was needed he turned to Charlie for help. It was often a combination of both disciplines that won the day – solid investigative work and Charlie's numbers.

It hadn't been easy admitting his younger brother could actually help him do his job and it had been even harder still to ask him, but they had grown past that. They'd probably always have a certain amount of issues between them, but before Charlie left for England, they had been in a good place. Years of working together had given them symmetry, balance; a situation away from sibling rivalry and jealousy where they both had something to bring to the table. Don had discovered he not only liked his brother, he trusted him, inexplicably. Charlie might have doubts about his analysis, but Don didn't. Confident, he pressed on towards the high rise buildings two miles away.

~Numb3rs~

Charlie watched Don cross the street, slipping between a large equestrian group and the band behind it, then running east, towards the Amherst Complex. He'd forgotten how much he hated this part. Convincing Don and the bureau that math could be used to fight crime had been a double-edged sword. Certainly, in the beginning, it had helped that Don was open and receptive to using any method available to get the job done. When Charlie's equations and algorithms proved not only reliable but down right ground breaking in closing cases quickly, it had made it easier to convince the naysayers.

But, he had never liked watching Don and his team rush off to confront a dangerous criminal based on information he gave them - especially when he didn't have time to double check his analysis, like now.

He thought about Don. For too long they had been family in name only. The closeness they had shared when they were younger had dissipated through their high school and college years, the gap between them widening with each family vacation Don reneged on and each holiday spent in separate states. When he started working with Don, there had been a gradual, but definite change. Don finally accepted Charlie for who he was, and Charlie, at long last, realized how his intellect and fame had alienated his older brother. With understanding came respect, and the closeness of working together had strengthened the bonds of brotherhood.

The sword was always there, though; the numbers, the thing that gave him his brother back was also the thing that could take him away forever.

Charlie intended to do what Don had instructed, he really did, but as he looked around for a place to stay out of the way, something caught his eye. The parade, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, continued it's path down Colorado and at that moment, passing directly in front of Charlie were two Wells Fargo stagecoaches.

The familiar red and gold coaches, one pulled by four matching brown horses, and the other by four beautiful sorrel steeds were iconic scenes of American history and legendary symbols of heritage and trust. Wells Fargo was also a frequent part of the celebration of the Rose Parade. And it was something else, he thought … it was a bank. A bank with money for loans and mortgages and …

His breath quickened and the blood rushed through his veins so quickly he felt his forehead throbbing. His eyes were wide, the pupils dark and still, and he could no longer see the stagecoach. Complex equations, complicated neural networks, endless binary patterns – they forced their way to his consciousness, spinning and eddying behind his eyes with relentless fervor until he gasped with sudden understanding. With it came dread; it settled in his stomach like a lead ball. The fear and uncertainty that plagued him when he was working with life or death surfaced with a violent intensity and he staggered, nearly overwhelmed by it. He fought it, reaching through the maze of digits in his head for the rational, lucid thoughts he needed to keep Don and everyone else safe.

He needed to refine the data points, enrich his system analysis. He needed to write. He scrabbled through his pockets, but Albert Einstein didn't need pens or pencils or markers while riding on a parade float and the pockets of the brown jacket were empty. His mind was overflowing with information screaming to be acknowledged, and he started a desperate search for writing material. After looking for several minutes, he nearly pounced on a shop owner who was writing the altered hours of operation due to the parade on the glass section of the door with a colored marker. The startled man readily agreed to give the marker he was using to Charlie and the mathematician hurried away. Three buildings down he found a dry cleaners with a large expanse of blank window space, and he started writing.

**tbc**


	3. Chapter 3

**The reviews are great! Thank you so much. Hope you enjoy this chapter, too.**

**Just Imagine**

**Chapter 3**

Don was running. The parade's leisurely pace of 2 ½ miles an hour allowed him to overtake the parade entries with little or no effort. He ran past the 1910 Pope Hartford vintage car carrying the mayor of Pasadena, who waved at the cheering crowd and paid the federal agent running past his car no attention. He kept running, past a large group of western cowboys riding decorated and well-trained horses who pranced importantly and also ignored him. One of the spectators had left a backpack a little too far out on the blue line and Don had to jump over it. The action startled one of the horses, who reared up, throwing his rider off and knocking Don off his feet. Don jumped back up and pulled the man out of the way of the other riders. The man was uninjured and immediately began calming his frightened horse. Don started running again. He ran past the University of Oregon Marching band with over 200 members. They filled the street, their precision and exactness a sharp juxtaposition to the chaos Don's morning had turned into. It was once he passed the band, and it's deafening beat that he heard a familiar sound. He stopped short, turning his head in different directions, searching for the source of the noise over the sounds of the parade .A motorcycle!

He saw the Pasadena motorcycle policeman whiz by behind the large grandstand to his left, and instantly, Don began running in a course that would intersect with the officer. He tried to break through the crowd close to the grandstand but was brought to an abrupt stop by a large solid rock of a man standing on the blue line. "Hey," the man snarled. "This is our spot. Get your own."

As he spoke, Don could smell the man's breath and it was obvious he had enjoyed the pre-parade activities the night before a little more than he should have and the hangover was probably making him surly and argumentative. Don could show his ID that identified him as a federal agent, but he didn't want to frighten anyone if he could help it. An FBI agent, flashing his badge and running as if he was chasing a murderer could certainly cause some alarm. He couldn't let this idiot stop him, though. He tried to push his way through again and the man swung at him. Don dodged the man's fist easily, then raised his opened hands, trying to placate him. "I just want to get through, sir." As an afterthought, Don thought it might be better if the man knew he was an agent, giving him the chance to back down. Leaning closer, he spoke into the man's ear. "FBI business. Just let me through, sir."

When Don tried once more to move through the crowd, the man incredibly swung again, surprising Don and clipping him across the cheek.

He didn't have time for this. A different day and he would have had this bozo cuffed and face down on the ground for assaulting a federal agent. Instead, he forced his way around him, using his forearm to push the man away, dodging a beefy hand as it tried to stop him. He didn't count on the bully's friend, though, and Don suddenly found himself reeling as a fist connected solidly to the side of his head. He fell to the ground, causing some of the spectators to jump aside, frightened by the disturbance. Instinctively, he tried to cover his head to avoid being trampled.

He was abruptly hauled to his feet by a firm hand, and Don was glad to see the face of a LAPD officer he knew, Todd Henshaw, before him.

"We've got this, Eppes," Henshaw said as he cuffed the troublemaker while his partner took care of the man's friend. The two were quickly taken to a police cruiser off Colorado to be driven downtown and booked. Henshaw turned to Don and handed him a small communication link and a Kevlar vest. "Agent Granger sent these," he said.

As Don put the comm link in his ear he saw the motorcycle policeman pull up. He motioned to the cycle then to himself and Officer Henshaw nodded his understanding.

Don adjusted the link in his ear. "Colby, you there?"

Colby's voice, nearly yelling over the sound of a band, came back. "Yeah, Don. Huckeriede is coordinating with the sheriff's department. The canine units have reported all clear from S. Arroyo to Allen. They're proceeding east. And, I've got medical standing by." Colby paused briefly, then said in a lower voice, "Don, Huckereide just reported they found an unconscious man in an alley. Name's Lester Drake. He's a White Suit, but he was found stripped to his boxers. If Brant is dressed that way . . .."

"Damn," Don muttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. _This just keeps getting better._

Each year volunteers donate their time and efforts to make sure everything goes right on parade day. They might control traffic, or deal with overnight campers, or help with directions, or simply keep the portable toilets clean. They wear white suits, white shirts and shoes, with red ties and name tags. They are called white suits. Don heard once there are over 900 of them. 900 – and Brant could be disguised as one.

Henshaw was in front of him, then, with the motorcycle and Don took the proffered helmet. Before settling it on his head, though, he spoke. "Thanks for the comm link, Colby, but I'm going to be off grid for a few minutes. I'll contact you when I get there."

"Understood, Don. Watch your back."

Don slipped into the bullet proof vest and Henshaw helped fasten it behind him. "Two units are standing by at the location," Henshaw informed him as he smoothed the last velcro strap down. Don nodded acknowledgment, slipping the comm link into his pocket. He swung his leg over the cycle's seat and settled himself on the bike. With one last nod of thanks toward Henshaw, Don gripped the handles and tested the cycle's response, then he pulled away from the crowd and headed down the street at a brisk pace.

He remained on Colorado Blvd., it being the most direct route, once again staying between the blue line and the parade. Several of the floats had outlying participants; people walking beside the entry, dressed in coordinating outfits with the ones riding on the float. Keeping a sharp eye out for them, he sailed by the floats and parade participants quickly, the millions of decorative blossoms becoming blurred rainbows of color in his peripheral vision.

Five blocks from the Amherst Complex, Don saw a man in a white suit walking in the same direction. There were actually three other white suits in his vision at that moment – one standing along the blue line with a member of the parade committee, and two others working quickly and discreetly, cleaning up a mess one of the horses had made in the street. This one, though, in spite of looking the part, immediately raised Don's suspicions. He was carrying a bag, slightly smaller than a gym bag, and walking at an unhurried pace, as if he were just out for a stroll. It was that nonchalance, that trying so hard not to look suspicious that told Don something was up.

He let up on the throttle, slowing down, but keeping a safe distance between himself and the white suit. This had to be Brant, he thought. The bag was definitely big enough to carry a disassembled sniper rifle. Don pulled the cycle off the street, alongside a set of grandstands and turned it off. Leaving the helmet with it, but pocketing the keys, Don fell in half a block behind the suspect and maintained his distance.

At Lake and Colorado, Don was puzzled when the man continued walking, passing the Amherst Complex without even slowing down. He knew the two police units would be in position in the rear of the complex, out of sight. Quickly, he ran behind the first building and motioned for the four Pasadena police officers to follow him. The white suit was still visible, nearly a block away, when they came around to the front of the building again, but he had slowed down, then once again puzzled Don when he slipped into an alley between two one-storied businesses.

When Don and the four officers reached the alley, the suspect was in the active process of disengaging the alarm system on the back door of a jewelry store. They moved in quickly, but one of the officers startled a stray cat who had been looking for a quiet place away from the noise of the parade. The cat screeched and jumped from behind a trash can, startling everyone in the alley. The suspect turned, reaching into his pocket. Don drew his weapon and yelled, "Hold it, FBI!", but just then, another cat leaped out of the trash can, knocking it to the ground, where it rolled into Don's legs, causing him to take a few steps backwards. That was just enough time for the suspect to draw a gun from his jacket and fire several shots. A policeman, wounded in the leg, fell to the ground beside Don. As one of the shots whizzed close by his head, Don aimed and fired back. The suspect, hit in the shoulder by Don's shot, fell back against the building and slid to the ground. Don and two of the officers moved in quickly, disarming and cuffing the man in seconds.

"Call it in," Don said to the policeman beside him. "And get some medics in here."

While one of the officers did that, Don checked on the wounded policeman. He was relieved to see it was only a flesh wound. He opened the bag the white suit had been carrying and instead of a rifle, there was a cache of stolen items. It looked like the man had been taking advantage of the parade's distraction and broken into a few other businesses.

Reaching into his pocket, he put the comm link in his ear. "Colby, you there?"

"Yeah, Don."

"We found your white suit, but it's not Brant. We got him red-handed breaking into a jewelry store. Looks like he hit a few others, too. I'm sending him in for booking and heading back to Amherst." Don didn't mention the shooting. If Charlie was around he didn't want him to worry.

"Roger that, Don. Huckereide will be glad to hear you caught him. Charlie has something … wait a minute, Don. Charlie wants to talk to you."

A few seconds passed as the comm link was transferred, then Don heard Charlie's excited voice. "Don, I was right. Well, really I was wrong, but I was right that there was something wrong with my analysis."

"Charlie..." Don's weary voice said he didn't have time for his brother's irrational outbursts.

"No, Don, listen. It's not the Amherst Complex, it's the bank!"

"What? Why do you say that?"

"Remember, he and his wife tried to rob a bank. It would have been the bank out here that repossessed his car and foreclosed on his house. He's trying to make the bank pay, Don."

"Yeah, but which one. Charlie, do you know who many banks and branches there are within sniper range?"

"Sixteen," Charlie answered quickly, "nine on Colorado, five on Lake and 2 on Walnut. But, Don, Colby called Megan. It's Wells Fargo. And there's one on ..."

"Yeah," Don completed, "on S. Lake, three blocks over."

"It didn't fit into my original analysis because it only has 12 stories and the probabilities for buildings that high were only 36 percent. The Amherst Complex buildings, with 18 stories, were 87 percent."

"Yeah, well, that close, Charlie, 12 stories is high enough."

"Alright, Don, but don't go in."

"What? Charlie I have to go in if I'm going to stop him."

"You're not listening Don. He wants to show the bank what it's like to lose everything, remember? He'll shoot from the windows as long as he can, but he'll have the doors rigged to blow when the police come in after him. He wants to kill as many people as he can, Don, and he wants to bank to be part of it."

"Ah, I see what you're saying. Just like the School Book Depository in Dallas is synonymous with Kennedy's assassination, he wants the bank's name to be associated with the loss of innocent lives during the Rose Parade."

"But, first you have to find a safe way in."

Don blinked, deep in thought. The Wells Fargo bank occupied the lower two levels of the building. It was an older building, but he knew it had been well maintained and it was one of the premier buildings along that stretch of S. Lake. There was something about that building, Don thought. A memory, distant and long ago relegated to the back of his mind, was fighting it's way into focus. When it broke through, Don's lips quirked into a small smile and he spoke excitedly into the comm. "I think I got that covered, buddy," he said. "Give me back to Colby."

When Colby took the communication link back, Don told him, "I think I can get in without Brant knowing it. Hold your position there. Keep a line open to Huckeriede. And Colby … "

Don didn't have to ask Colby to stay there with his brother. Already knowing he would was part of the familiar, reliable benefit of working with his friend again. Granger's voice, solid and firm came through the comm. "Einstein and I'll wait here for you, Don."

With no need for the helmet, Don left the ear comm in place and approached the four members of the PDP. Officer Mott was sitting against a dumpster, his face creased in pain and his partner beside him holding a cloth against the wound in his thigh. Don touched Mott's shoulder and the man looked up at him. "I'm fine, sir." Don nodded, knowing he would be alright. "Stay with him," he said to his partner, then Don approached the other two men. The older officer was standing beside the wounded thief and Don said, "Go to the hospital with him. Make sure he gets treated. Make sure he knows his rights. Let him call his lawyer, then lock his ass up." The last man, Officer Roy Hayden, looked at Don, waiting for orders. Don simply said, "Come with me." The two men left the alley, turned west and started running.

~Numb3rs~

The Jacaranda tree is hardy and flourishes well in the dry heat of the American Southwest. It can grow as high as 50ft with a span of 30 ft or more. It's delicate purple blossoms make it a frequent choice for landscaping; homes and businesses alike. When the building that housed the branch of the Wells Fargo bank was built in 1941 the construction company used the popular tree whenever they could. At the time, the twelve story structure had an upscale men's clothing store in the ground level with office spaces available on the higher floors. The shop owner's wife persuaded her husband that the employees needed a quiet, relaxing place in the back yard, for mid-morning and afternoon breaks. Stone benches and wrought iron chairs with soft cushions were placed in a pleasing arrangement around the bushes and trees for optimum shade. At that time, the lone Jacaranda tree, while pleasant to look at when it bloomed twice a year, was hardly large enough to offer much respite from the California sun. Forty-four years, later, however, in 1985, it's branches had spread out over the ground area behind the building. Inadvertently, and certainly to the dismay of the gentle woman with mid-morning tea breaks in mind, the tree also offered a means to watch the Rose Parade from one of the best advantage points on Colorado, with controlled temperatures, plenty of elbow room and free of charge.

In 1985, the year Charlie rode on the float in the Rose Parade, Alan and Margaret had been busy "backstage", with their youngest. They had found a spot for Don to watch the parade on his own and Alan had taken Don there, making sure he had everything he needed and knew where to meet them when the parade was over. Nearly fifteen, Don hadn't cared where he watched the parade from, he was just glad he was on his own and missing all the fuss over Charlie. David Bradley, a senior and two years older than Don, found him where his father had put him and offered a better position, a better view, a better place to watch the parade. Willingly, Don had followed Bradley to the back of one of the older high rise buildings on Colorado. Don followed Bradley's lead as the boy climbed a tree behind the building to a stairway window between the second and third floors. The window opened easily and the boys climbed into the building where they watched the parade undisturbed and unnoticed. He had never told anyone about it: considering Bradley had been arrested three months later on a breaking and entering charge, he had thought it prudent to keep it to himself.

He stood behind the same building now, gazing up into the maze of limbs and branches of the same Jacaranda tree. There was a moment, an incredulous instant where Don thought the irony was unbelievable; that this tree might be the key to stopping Brant.

The tree's trunk split apart nearly six feet from the ground, the two separate sections shooting skyward, branching away from each other. The numerous limbs growing off each part of the trunk filled in the gap between the larger, wider sections giving the tree an even, well-filled out look. The split, however, was too high to get a good foot hold. Don slid a well-worn bench next to the trunk and stood on it. Getting a solid hold on a low hanging branch, Don wedged his foot in the split and started climbing the tree, Hayden following close behind him. The old tree welcomed him, offering sturdy limbs that held his weight without snapping and they worked their way through the maze of smaller branches towards the lone window.

The limbs of the tree had spread out since Don had climbed it last, and their edges were now pressed against the side of the building. They were too weak to support his weight, however, and he found himself suspended on the last sturdy branch, five feet or so away from the window. It had been that way in 1985, as well, the branches close to the window too thin to hold the two boys. Don pressed his lips together, remembering the crazy, dangerous way they had solved the problem. David first, then Don had leaped from the tree, their fingers grasping hold of the ledge beneath the window at the last moment. He had been fifteen, not afraid of anything and naïve enough to think he would live forever. Looking now, across the empty stretch at the warped and weathered wood of the window ledge, Don took several deep breaths through his nose. _Damn, this was sure a lot easier when I was 15,_ he thought. He wasn't sure the ledge would hold his weight, but, he thought grimly, he didn't have much of a choice. Brant could have someone in his sights right now.

He felt movement beside him and saw Hayden, on a branch nearby. The officer inched forward. "I think I can make it," he said. Maybe he could, Don thought. He was a tall man, younger, leaner with longer arms and probably 20 to 30 pounds lighter than Don was. It could work, Don thought.

He couldn't quite squelch the feeling of being too old for the job, but now was not the time for such brooding ruminations. Make it work, he thought. He moved back on the branch, giving Hayden more room to maneuver. "The wood might be …" he started to caution.

"Yeah," Hayden interrupted, knowing the weathered wood might be decayed or rotten. Centering himself on the last solid branch, Hayden leaned forward towards the window. Inches above him, on another limb, Don reached forward and grabbed the officer's belt. The man continued to stretch himself forward until his fingertips reached the window ledge. When his hands had a firm grip on the ledge, the policeman nodded his head, signaling Don he was ready.

"Alright, on three," Don said. "One, two, three." Don released his hold on the belt and Hayden swung himself out of the tree. With one hand still clutching the ledge, he used the other to push the window open. Don let out a sigh of relief that it hadn't been locked. Hayden slipped into the building and immediately turned around towards Don. He reached out for the agent and Don leaned in as far as he could. They grasped each others hands, Hayden long fingers wrapped securely around Don's wrists. When he left the safety of the branch, Don swung towards the building. Hayden tried to soften the blow as his body hit the side of the building, but Don shook it off and climbed in through the window.

They stood together on the landing between floors for a few seconds, weapons drawn, listening for any sounds that might indicate where Brant was. Don relied on Hayden, the noise of the parade outside coupled with the sounds of the parade through the ear comm where Colby was, made it hard for him to isolate any disturbances in the building. Hayden motioned that he hadn't heard anything, that they could proceed. Don pointed up the stairway and Hayden nodded. Don took the lead. He went immediately to the 12th floor, the highest point in the building. Silently they went through the fire door and into the hallway.

Don looked both left and right. There were several offices on each side, but he only counted the ones facing Colorado; two on the right, three to the left. Once again, Don went against protocol and decided to split up. The sooner they found Brant, the better. Don motioned for Hayden to check the two doors on the right and he turned the opposite direction.

He inched down the hallway and approached the first door. He tried to turn the knob. It was locked. He didn't see any signs of the lock being tampered with, so he started down the hallway again.

Adrenaline pumped through his body and he relished the familiar heady feeling of tracking a suspect - something he had missed a great deal the last year. His heart was beating rapidly, his breaths were fast and measured and he really, really wished he had a stick of gum.

He was nearing the second office when he noticed the third door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar. He looked behind him, down the hallway, for Hayden, but the officer must have found one of the offices unlocked and was searching it. Don took several deep, measured breaths, then slowly approached the door and opened it.

Brant was there, standing at the opened window, looking out at the parade. He had a sniper rifle in his hands and he was in the process of taking aim on the street below.

Don took two silent steps into the room, aimed his gun high on Brant's back, between his shoulder blades and shouted, "Drop the gun, Brant! FBI! It's over!"

The man flinched, his shoulder's tightened and Don knew he was wondering if he could escape. "Don't try it," Don warned, moving further into the room, "back away from the window, towards my voice, and drop your weapon."

Brant didn't move. "You don't understand," he said, his voice tight and filled with anger, "they took it all. They have to pay."

Don inched forward. "Maybe, but not this way. Not today. Now drop the gun."

Brant stood up and raised one hand in surrender while lowering the sniper rifle to the desk beside him, next to a large opened canvas bag.

"Turn around, get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head," Don ordered as he stepped closer to the man.

Brant turned around slowly, then suddenly he moved fast, grabbing the canvas bag and hurling it towards Don. Don fired his gun, but the shot went wild as the bag hit his arm with such force it knocked his service weapon from his hands. It slid across the floor. Don saw Brant reach for the rifle and knew he didn't have time to go for his Glock. Brant was at the window again, aiming at the street below and Don rushed at him.

He grabbed the man at the shoulders and pulled him violently away from the window, but the rifle discharged once and Don's stomach lurched at the thought of someone in the street being hit. Angry now, Don continued to pull Brant away from the window and managed to wrestle the rifle out of his hands. He tossed it across the room. When Brant scrambled for it, Don grabbed his shoulder again, turned him around and drove his fist into the man's face. He reeled backwards, but came back at Don, with fury in his eyes. His fist connected with Don's jaw with such power, Don saw nothing but white lights. His vision cleared in time to see Brant heading across the room for his rifle again. Don dove at the man, tackling him to the floor, and they fought furiously, delivering blow after blow to each others face and head.

The man was strong, but despite not having been in the field as much the last year, Don was still trained and fit and determined Brant would not get his hands on that rifle again. Don knew he could take him.

"_Charlie!"_

One word changed that. He heard Colby's voice through the comm link still in his ear, calling out his brother's name with such fear and desperation, he froze. One word. One brother. One shot. Charlie was down there … Could Brant's one shot have … Was Charlie … ? For just an instant, he was literally paralyzed with fear, but it was all Brant needed. His fist hit Don with such power, his head snapped to the side violently and the comm link fell out of his ear, in pieces.

~Numb3rs~

Charlie was pacing back and forth behind a makeshift barricade along the north side of Colorado while Colby stood close by with two police units. The mathematician's frantic pacing was irritating the agent, but he understood. It was hard just standing there, waiting for Don to call, or worse case scenario, for the shooting to start.

Huckereide had just sent word that there had been some kind of trouble near the location of the office buildings and that two men had been shot. Unfortunately, Charlie had been close enough to hear. Colby tried to reassure the mathematician that Don was alright, but Charlie had closed up, his face becoming hard and unreadable, and he had withdrawn alone to wait and pace behind the barrier.

Colby sighed. The Wells Fargo bank was over a half a mile from where he stood. He'd rather be there with Don, kicking in a few doors, but he had been told to hold his position and that's what he'd do. If, as Charlie deduced – and Charlie was seldom wrong – Brant was planning to shoot from the bank's window, he figured the best the sniper would be able to do would be 700 to 800 yards; half a mile or so – unless, somehow, he had gotten his hands on a long range sniper rifle, and these days anyone with enough money and the right connections can get their hands on just about anything they want. In that case the effective range could be as far as a mile or more. The record kill for a military sniper in Afghanistan was 1½ miles – but, even Colby knew that was a trained sniper with a little luck. Brant didn't have the training. Let's hope, Colby thought, he doesn't have the luck, either.

Based on his assumptions, Colby turned his gaze down Colorado, where it intersected with Lake, and scanned the crowd and parade participants carefully. He knew they wouldn't hear the shot; someone, somewhere would just drop to the ground.

The University of Wisconsin Marching Band marched by, and the Badger fans in the crowd went crazy. The 200 plus members of the band, the cheerleaders on the float in front of the band, and a contingent of fans behind the blue line across the street were all dressed in vivid red and white. For the few minutes it took the float and the band to move down Colorado, it seemed to Colby the street was nothing but a writhing, moving mass of red and white.

It was the colors in the float that came behind the band, though, that caught Colby's attention.

This float went overboard on flowers, he thought, in fact, it had won the Sweepstake's Trophy for Most Beautiful Entry with Outstanding Floral Presentation and Design.

The float was in the shape of a very large blue and green tent. The vivid colors came from thousands of hardy and cost effective carnations. There were no sides to the tent, of course, just the top covering the entire float, and under the big top was a circus. It wasn't as long as the CalSci float, Colby noted, but it was long enough to sustain three rings of circus activity. One ring had a man, dressed in a khaki colored lion tamers outfit, pretending to "tame" several animated lions that pawed at the man and threw their heads back and roared. Another ring had the iconic act of trapeze artist. Two live female riders, dressed in skimpy outfits with leotards, swung high over-head, on rose-covered trellis-like swings, waving at the spectators. The third ring caught Colby's eye right away; the ever popular dog show – with live dogs performing as the float moved down the street. Each dog wore a flowered collar and they danced on their hind legs, or jumped through flower covered hoops or leaped over each other to the crowds delight. Old-fashion calliope music blared from speakers hidden beneath a blanket of hot pink Gerbera daisies as the float made it's way down the street.

There were outlying participants with this float and they walked along the side of the moving circus, tossing candy into the crowd behind the blue line. There was a bearded lady and a group of lithe, smiling acrobats. A beautiful woman stood on top of a white horse that pranced beside the float, and there were clowns – lots of clowns. They ran around the float, tripping over each other and delighting the spectators. A smaller than original version of an old model T Ford kept pace with the float, driven by a clown wearing a oversized chauffeur's hat. Periodically, a few of the other clowns would hop on board, riding for a while, then disembark once again to do a juggling act with three rubber chickens, or blow bubbles into the air with a large bubble gun, or make everyone laugh doing windmills in enormous, red shoes.

Colby smiled at the antics and fervently hoped they'd all have something to laugh about when this was all over.

When all twelve clowns clambered into the car at the same time, piling in on top of each other, the crowd roared in laughter. Later, Colby knew that was the instant everything went wrong.

He saw Charlie come out from behind the barrier, heading with purpose towards him, at the same time his trained ears heard the phfftt of a bullet on a mission.

"Charlie!"

Charlie froze and Colby leaped into action.

The Model T suddenly swerved across the street, zig zagging out of control and leaving a trail of disengaged clowns behind it. In a matter of seconds the street was strewn with them. They lay, shocked, surprised, injured and confused, and in their midst, still and bleeding lay Albert Einstein.

**tbc**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so very much for the reviews, alerts, favorites, and instant messages. This has been fun and I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it.**

**This chapter has a spoiler for "Cause and Effect".**

**Just Imagine**

**Chapter Four**

Officer Roy Hayden had taken the two doors on the left, as Don ordered. The first room he checked was a large multi-purpose one. Surprisingly, the door was unlocked and he was able to look inside. The room had several desks and work stations, and along the long wall facing Colorado Blvd. there were three windows. Roy check them, noting they were locked and he saw no signs of any recent activity around them.

He left that room, closing the door behind him, and started down the hallway towards the other office. Both rooms were large and there was a long distance between the doors. He looked back, pensive, at the opposite hallway that Agent Eppes was checking and saw no one. Eppes must be inside one of the three offices.

The next door was also unlocked and he found himself in what he assumed was a training room. There were eight long wooden tables, each with a computer monitor, training manuals and presentation folders spread on top of the polished wood. One side of the room held white boards and display easels with graphic charts, and beyond that was another smaller room. He stepped into the partitioned area and looked around. There were studio lights and video cameras set up and each wall was covered in sound proofing material. It was obviously a sound proof room where training videos were made. There was no sign of Brant or anyone else, so he turned to leave.

He heard a sound. Funny, he thought to himself, I'm in a sound proof room and that's when I hear something. He had left the door opened and he assumed that was why he was still able to hear muffled noises from outside, but it was so distorted, he couldn't quite make out what it was. It had sounded like a snap or pop. He took one last look around the video room, and one last inspection of the two windows facing Colorado in the larger room, then stepped out into the hallway. He started towards the offices Agent Eppes was clearing, to report, when he heard another sound. This time he had no trouble recognizing it as a gun being fired. He drew his weapon and started running.

He saw that the third door at the far end of the hall was opened and he headed directly for it. Rushing into the room he saw Agent Eppes and a man he assumed was Brant engaged in a fierce battle. Both men were breathless and bloody.

"Freeze!" Hayden called out, but the fight was too intense, too extreme for them to take notice of him. Hayden saw the sniper rifle on the floor and quickly picked it up, setting it outside the room, out of reach.

Hayden was not exactly a rookie – he'd been patrolling the streets of Pasadena for two years now, had even worked backup with a team in LA on a drug raid – but he had never seen two opponents engaged in such a savage fight.

It was not exactly an even match. Eppes was solid, well-trained, and certainly motivated by a justifiable need to stop Brant, but Brant outweighed the agent by 50 pounds of sheer muscle – weightlifter, Hayden assumed. He was taller than Eppes by several inches and by the look of manic determination on his face, motivated by the same, alibet opposing, righteous conviction Eppes had.

Hayden skirted the men, watching for a break, looking for a way he could intervene, or lend assistance.

Brant smashed his fist into Don's face and the agent crumpled to the floor. Brant moved in instantly, his fist drawn back again, but Eppes drew his leg up, hooked his foot behind Brant's knee and jerked the sniper's leg out from under him, sending the man crashing to the floor. Both men were on their feet immediately, facing each other again, but Brant froze at the feel of Hayden's gun boring into the back of his head.

"Don't move," the young officer snapped.

Moving stiffly, Don walked over, took Hayden's cuffs off his belt and snapped them around Brant's wrist, then forced the man down to the floor. "Sit down," Don barked a little breathlessly.

Hayden looked with concern at the agent's face. His lip was split open and blood trickled down his chin. His left cheek and eye showed signs of bruising, but Don was moving quickly, clearly not concerned about his injuries. He hurried across the room and picked something up from the floor. Hayden watched as Don tried to reassemble the communication link. He saw the agent's hands tremble as he reinserted the link into his ear.

"Colby? Colby, you there?" Don tried to adjust it. "Granger, report."

Hayden didn't know what was going on, but he was surprised when the agent threw the link across the room and cursed. Don took three long strides across the room and retrieved his Glock. Before holstering it, he looked at Brant, his hand flexing and unflexing on the handle of his weapon, and the man returned his look with hatred and contempt. "Right now, you're going down for breaking and entering, possession of an illegal weapon, conspiracy to commit murder and assault on a federal agent. You'd better hope that shot went wild; cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder is a whole different story." Sliding the Glock into it's holster, he looked at Roy Hayden. "You got this?"

Hayden nodded. "Yeah." he answered quickly. "I'll call it in. Go ahead."

He didn't know what Eppes had to take care of, but by the way the agent ran from the room, a look of absolute terror on his face, it must be important.

~Numb3rs~

Don knew the building had to have an elevator, but he wasn't willing to take the time to find it. Besides, at the pace he flew down the twelve flights of stairs, he figured he'd beat it anyway. On the first floor, Don burst through the stairway door into the lobby and headed for the front door, only to come to an abrupt halt when he remembered Brant had the entrance booby-trapped. If he couldn't get out the front door, the only other option was to go back up two levels, through the window and down the damn tree again. It was then he noticed movement outside the main doors. The bomb squad was there.

The explosive was actually a simple device attached to the double doors, triggered only if the doors opened. Someone from bomb squad had cut a hole in the glass beside the door frame and one of them had his arm through the hole, a pair of cutters in his hand. It was over by the time Don got there.

The doors were flung open and the lobby was filled with police officers from both Los Angeles and Pasadena. Don told them where Hayden was holding Brant. One of the officers was talking on the police communication unit and Don ran to him. "Was anyone shot? He got one shot off. Was anyone hurt?"

The policeman answered right away. "No actual reports of anyone being shot, sir, but an ambulance has just been requested on Colorado, down past the Civic Auditorium. There's been some kind of disturbance."

Damn. That was close to where he left Colby and his brother. "I need to talk with Agent Colby Granger, FBI. He's probably there, in the middle of it."

A long minute later, the officer reported they hadn't been able to locate Agent Granger. "I think there's several persons injured and the parade was even stopped for a minute or two. It must be a mess down there if they did that. They never stop the parade."

This wasn't getting him anywhere. He had to know what was going on. "I need to get there. Now. I need a car."

"I'll take you, sir."

Don accepted the offer gratefully. He knew his emotions were too unstable to handle Rose Parade traffic.

Officer Mayo drove down E. Del Mar Blvd. which ran parallel with Colorado. He started to object when Don told him to use the lights and sirens, but thought twice about it when Don narrowed his eyes, glaring in such a manner that said either you turn them on or I will.

_What the hell was I thinking_, Don wondered. For six years, he had done everything he could to keep Charlie safe and protected when he consulted for the bureau. He had actually felt a sense of relief when Charlie was in England. I mean, what trouble could he get into at Cambridge, right?

By the time his brother had returned, things had changed; the team had changed. As Senior Agent in charge of the Los Angeles field office now, he was in the office more than he was the field. David was in DC, Liz had finally accepted the promotion in Denver, Colby was heading his own team with Nikki and a new rookie and Charlie had decided to concentrate on his position in the math community, working on getting a prefactory paper on Cognitive Emergence published.

Then, of course, there was the fact that Charlie, his little brother, was going to be a father in two months! Don shuddered. Right now he'd rather face the Russian Mafia, unarmed, blindfolded, with his hands tied behind his back than face his pregnant sister-in-law and tell her Charlie had been hurt helping him on a case.

700,000 people, and what were the odds that one bullet, one lone projectile would find his brother? It was unbelievable. It couldn't have happened. The odds were, as Charlie would say, incalculable. But, if not Charlie, then who? Someone else's brother, or father, or one of those little boys that was next to Robin and him watching the parade? Don literally felt sick to his stomach. But maybe, just maybe the shot missed, went wild or something and is embedded in a exterior concrete wall of one of the buildings. Just because the bullet was fired, didn't mean it hit anything, right? Don knew his thoughts were becoming erratic, that he was desperately searching for a reasonable solution to an unreasonable situation. Is that even possible? Was he overreacting? He just prayed Charlie would be able to explain angles of trajectory and velocity whatchamacallits over a few beers during the Rose Bowl game tonight.

Colby's desperate yell kept resonating in his head, though, haunting him with the alarming sound of fear and panic in it_. "Charlie!"_

Dammit, Charlie had been safe, back in the world of academia where he belonged. Then I drag him into this and …

Don stopped. Who was he trying to convince? Yeah, he knew Charlie wanted to impress him, was always happy to show Don what math could do, but, he knew as well that Charlie had sincerely liked working with him, liked showing off at times, liked knowing he could help in his own unique way. He wouldn't have been able to stop his brother – even if he had wanted to. And, in the end, dammit, he didn't want to.

Mayo had turned right, onto S. Fair Oaks Ave., taking them onto Colorado where Colby had been sitting in the grandstands earlier. He parked the cruiser behind the bleachers and they stepped out of the car.

The parade was still in full swing, the deafening sound of a drum corps rendering conversation useless, but Don didn't need to talk. Two blocks down, he saw the flashing lights of an ambulance and he took off at a full run.

Incredibly, he found Colby, calmly standing in the street, next to a man dressed as a clown, pen and paper in hand, apparently taking the man's statement. Several other clowns were standing alongside the street, one holding an cold pack on his head, another examining the white bandage covering his wrist. An old Model T Ford lay sideways in the street with two more clowns inspecting the damage. _What the hell had happened? And where was Charlie?_

"Colby," Don called, and the agent looked up. "Where's Char …"

Just then, Charlie walked out from behind the barricade.

_He looks okay,_ Don thought with relief, scanning his brother for any signs of injury. He looked a little rumpled, but then, didn't he look rumpled before? Isn't Albert Einstein supposed to look rumpled? Charlie saw him then and hurried towards him and it was then Don saw the truth. His brother was a little pale and trembling slightly, walking with a stiff gait, his left arm still against his side instead of loose and swinging as he walked.

"Are you alright?" The words were spoken in unison, from both brothers, when they drew close to each other. Don reached forward and squeezed Charlie's shoulder, silencing him long enough for him to ask again, "Seriously, Charlie. Are you alright? Did you get hit?" This close now, Don saw the cuts and scrapes on his brother's face – nothing that required stitches, and, blessedly no gunshot wound – still, his brother had obviously been injured somehow.

Charlie's eyes were huge, he seemed jumpy and slightly off kilter, even for him. "Yeah … no, I didn't get hit," he said, his head moving up and down rapidly. "Yeah, I'm … I'm fine, Don. What about you? We heard two men were shot at the complex. I thought …"

Don shook his head. "Naw, Charlie. A Pasadena policeman was wounded, but he's going to be alright. So's the burglar I had to shoot. He'll heal sitting in jail."

Charlie looked relieved at first, then skeptical, studying his brother's face. Chagrined, Don reached up and swiped his hand over his cut lip, then seeing the blood across his knuckles, wiped it across the pants leg of his jeans. The skin around his eye was tight and warm, slightly swollen, and he knew it must look bad to Charlie. Don smiled, reassuring and soothing. "I'm fine, Charlie."

"Did you get him? Brant?"

"Yeah, Buddy. It was just like you said."

Colby joined them and looked at Don. "Pretty good work for an old man who hasn't been in the field much lately," he taunted.

Don gave him a teasing smirk, but didn't respond. There was something important he still needed to know. "Colby, he got a shot off. Was anyone hurt?"

A look passed between Colby and Charlie that made the hair on the back of Don's neck bristle.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, there _was_ one casualty," Colby admitted, pointing to the overturned model T. "Left front tire took a direct hit."

Don looked at the vehicle, on it's side behind the blue line where it had been dragged out of the parade's path, and he could clearly see the gaping hole in the front tire. He sighed and all the tension from the last hour evaporated like a ghostly apparition.

"That's it? When I heard you yell Charlie's name over the link, I thought ..."

Both Colby and Charlie dropped their eyes to the ground, obviously uncomfortable and unwilling to meet Don's eyes, and the agent stiffened. "What?" he demanded, again.

Colby took a deep breath."Well, when the bullet took out the tire, the driver lost control. It swerved all over the street until ..."

"Until what?"

"Until ... it hit Einstein here."

"What?"

"I'm alright, Don, see? Couple of bruises." Charlie was talking in rapid bursts, as if he talked fast enough Don wouldn't be able to say anything. He pulled the sleeves of the jacket and sweater up, displaying a strip of white gauze and tape on his left forearm. "A little bandaid. That's it. Colby made sure I was checked out by the medics. They fixed me up. Said nothing's broken."

"You were run over by a car full of clowns? And you're not hurt?"

Charlie just shrugged sheepishly, and Colby's expression said everything Don already knew. If the car hit his brother straight on, he was probably knocked to the ground. He'll be one big black and blue bruise tomorrow. Probably should get a set of x rays, too, make sure nothing's broken, cracked or out of place, no matter what the medics said.

Right now, though, Charlie was standing there next to him looking fine – well, except for the Einstein hair – and they had managed, once again, to prevent a major disaster. He felt good. Better than good. He reached forward and patted Colby Granger once on the back. "It was good working with you again, Colb."

Colby's slow, one-sided grin said he felt the same way. "Same here, boss."

Don looked at Charlie again. His brother's head was cocked to one side and he was looking at Don with a penetrating, intense stare that would have unnerved the agent if Charlie hadn't been smiling, too; a wide, close-mouthed grin that conveyed a deep sense of, well, for lack of a better word, a deep sense of rightness.

Don's thoughts were suddenly back at the Craftsman, two days before his brother left for England. Charlie had just presented a theory to narrow the search for Don's lost weapon and Don had teased him about stalling, trying to postpone his departure.

"_Look, this is my problem. You gotta live your life."_

_Charlie had looked pensive, almost wistful. "You know, most of our lives we've lived in completely separate worlds. I don't want to go back to that."_

_The words had hit him hard; mainly because he had been thinking the same thing."Yeah, I hear you. I know … but, I don't think we will."_

"_We won't be working together," Charlie reminded him._

_The words, spoken out loud, had actually hurt for an instant. He would miss that. But, he knew they had come too far to let distance – either miles or emotions – change that._

_He smiled, soft, reassuring and affectionate. "That doesn't matter."_

Charlie had been skeptical, but, in the end, it_ hadn't_ mattered. There had been long phone conversations between them while he was abroad, something they had never done before. When Charlie and Amita had returned, he and Robin were frequent dinner guests at the Craftsman. They had the occasional boys night out, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with Colby and the new rookie on his team, Joe Yorkshire, where they drank beer and discussed everything from the current FBI case to Charlie's latest best selling math book to which team had the best chance at the Super Bowl this year.

Both of their lives would be different now, each starting a family of their own and taking them, Don was sure, in different directions again. But, that wouldn't matter, either; they were still brothers; they teased, they argued, they loved. It would always be that way. But, Don admitted, as he smiled back at his brother, working together . . . yeah, it had just felt right.

Just then, Don's phone buzzed. He looked briefly at the caller ID, and as he brought the phone to his ear, he mouthed to Charlie, "Dad."

"Hey, Pop, what's … "

"_Donnie, are you with Charlie?"_

"Yeah, Dad, everything's …"

"_Did I just see your brother on television, dressed as Einstein no less, get run over by a clown in a ridiculous vehicle?"_

Don managed to stop the burst of laughter that threatened to erupt and instead looked directly at his younger brother and spoke into the phone. "Oh, cameras caught that, huh? National coverage? Millions of viewers?"

Charlie groaned, loudly, and hung his head. Colby chuckled quietly. Don just smiled and spoke into the phone again, his voice teasing and reassuring at the same time. "Don't worry, Dad, except for a few tire tracks, he's fine."

"_How about Colby?"_

"Colby?" Don frowned, surprised at the question. His gaze switched quickly to the agent. "Why wouldn't Colby be alright?"

Don heard the familiar sigh that told him his father was thinking - 'Baseball. That was a good job. Why couldn't you have stayed playing baseball?'_ "Well, obviously you were somewhere else – involved with something else – and we'll talk about that later, but all those people along the sidewalk there owe their lives to Colby. When the car hit your brother, the driver fell out, but the car kept going, straight for the crowd. Colby jumped on and turned it away, then managed to stop it. He saved everyone, Don. The tv commentators are calling him a hero and already talking about him being the Grand Marshall in next year's parade."_

Don laughed out loud and it felt good. He assured Alan they were all fine and would be home soon, then disconnected the call. He looked thoughtfully at the cell in his hand, then quickly pressed a series of buttons. He waited a few seconds, then, "Hey, Megan … yeah, it's over. We got him. No … I didn't have to … yeah, I know. Hey, Reeves … you're still one of the best."

Don quickly called Robin, told her he was safe and for her to meet him at Charlie's, then he closed his cell and returned it to it's holder. He took a deep satisfying breath, the kind that says it's over and you did good, then ran his hand through his hair. He looked at Colby and Charlie. "What's the theme of this year's parade again?"

"Just imagine," Charlie answered.

Don grinned. "Well, right now, I'm _just imagining_ a hot shower and a cold beer. How about you guys?"

Colby nodded quickly, but Charlie argued, "No, Don, the parade's not over yet. You have to stay to the end. There's going to be 100 Palomino horses and a tribute trophy to Roy Rogers. It's going to be great." He looked towards the street at the colorful float passing by, then beyond it, down Colorado at the high school band just coming into view. "Come on," he said, excitedly, "the CalSci float is just behind this high school band from Raleigh, North Carolina. We can hop a ride."

"Yeah, but as Fleinhardt mentioned, we're not exactly dressed for it," Colby reminded him.

"That's alright," Charlie teased with a sly grin, "you can be my groupies."

"Einstein had groupies!"

"Of course he did."

Don wasn't convinced. "I don't know," he taunted. "Who's Larry again?"

For an instant Charlie looked stunned, then his face fell. Pouting, he hung his head and muttered, "Socrates."

"Yeah, Socrates," Don teased, "he was a cool guy, right? Did he have groupies?

Charlie's expression changed instantly to one of long-suffering exasperation. "Plato," he said with an air of _I can't_ _believe you didn't know that_, "and by extension, Plato's student Aristotle - then there's Crito of Alopece and Xenophon - but neither one of you could pass for any of them."

Don managed to look offended. "Ohhh, I think we're being insulted, Colb. Maybe we'll just walk with the clowns."

Charlie was immediately contrite, speaking quickly, "No, Don, I didn't mean …"

Don laughed, full and hearty, and slung his arm around his brother's neck. "Come on, Albert, let's go home. I think there might be a game on today."

**The end**

**Thank you for reading. **


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